AN - This prompt was requested by my gutterbugs! Red's extraction from The Fsctory turns into an endangered smutfest. As a fair warning, this chapter has a lot of smutty teasing, but the actual sex won't occur until chapter two. I hope you guys enjoy this! As always, I love feedback, so I thank you for any and all of that.

Disclaimer : Not my anything

Chapter One

Upon the breaking news of Reddington's overseas capture, the war room buzzed with a panicked confusion. Blindsided, the members of the taskforce found themselves divided by their opposing theories of what had happened.

Now, after working together for just over a year, all of the "type A", protocol-abiding agents had finally become accustomed to going against their training. Red had single-handedly reprogrammed them all, one case at a time. While they were still loathe to acknowledge it, in moments like this, when they were collectively worked into such a nervous lather, one truth made itself unimpeachably clear: They all cared about what happened to Raymond Reddington.

None of them so much as Liz.

Wary and untrusting, she eyed their newcomer closely. They were finally developing a friendly rapport, but the real purpose of the new agent's presence was still a mystery, and for all Liz knew, it may have been tied to this incident. Samar seemed to know just a little too much about Red's destination, the level ten blacksite prison dubbed "The Factory."

Unwilling to waste a single second, Liz insisted that they leave immediately. Samar could tell them everything about The Factory while they were enroute. As they touched down on the prison's helipad, Liz had the presence of mind to duck down, remaining unseen by whoever was watching their descent. Preparing to exit, Ressler pulled off his protective ear muffs and shouted, "What the hell are you doing, Keen?"

"We should stagger our entries. I'll go last," she replied.

The look in her eye was one that he'd come to recognize. If he had any chance in hell of changing her mind, it would take a LOT of persuasion, and they didn't have time for that. "Fine!"

"I don't think that's necessary, Agent Keen," Navabi chimed in. "We have clearance to be here. This chopper isn't a Trojan horse."

"There's a reason I didn't ask for your opinion. Go with Ressler, then. I'm fine on my own." Liz spat.

After the other two agents climbed out, Liz took off her jacket and reached under her seat for the extra protective vest that she'd brought for Red. Being larger, it easily slipped over her own. She tugged at the nylon sidestraps until it was sufficiently snug, and though it was uncomfortably warm, she re-donned her jacket to conceal what was underneath.

From Tom, Liz had learned the circumstantial advantages of feigned ignorance. From Red, she learned when and how to use it in order to stay one step ahead.

Still hunkered down, she used a compact mirror to look around outside for the best way in, and watched as Ressler and Samar were roughly dragged inside by guards with huge guns. In spite of the perilous circumstances, Liz smirked with a momentary sense of smug satisfaction. Red would be proud.

Or so she thought.

Liz hopped out and sprinted to the door with her gun drawn. Inside, she was surrounded by a darkness that was broken only by strobing yellow emergency lights, spaced out every twenty feet or so. She felt her way along the corridor, pausing frequently with her back pressed against the wall, surveying her immediate surroundings, and straining her ears for any sounds that might lead her to Red. The further inward that she moved, the better her eyes thankfully adjusted to the darkness.

After opening several doors that should have been locked, Liz had three theories that reigned over the rest. Either Red or Braxton were in the process of staging a prison coup, or they'd teamed up to do it together. She based her every move on the assumption that the coup was being lead by Braxton. Her mission to extract Red remained unchanged.

When she arrived at the intersection of another hall, Liz peered around the corner and spied a man standing guard in front of a closed door. Could he be guarding Red? She could think of only one way to find out- by retracing her steps, doubling back towards a ventilation duct that she'd passed about twenty yards back.

Suddenly, the vests and coat seemed like an awful idea. The entry was tight, but she made it through, into the wall. Inch by inch Liz crawled, with a painstaking slowness that both tortured her impatient nature and made it nearly impossible to gauge her proximity to the guarded room. She peered through the openings into each room, cursing as one by one, she found them empty.

Suddenly, Red's voice filled the vent. Low and powerful, it echoed and reverberated all around her, the vibrations penetrating her skin as he repeated a phone number several times in a row. Christ, she never would have guessed that his voice could sound hotter than it already did. By the time Liz made it to the source, she could hardly breathe. Nothing could have prepared her for the feast laid out before her when she peeked into the room.

Red was tethered by four seperate chains, one on each limb, attached to two opposing walls of the small cell. It rendered him effectively immobilized in the center, with his arms outstretched and legs parted. A black hood had been placed over his head, but even if he hadn't spoken, she would have still known that it was him. She'd recognize that ass anywhere. She paused for several seconds, raking her eyes appreciatively up and down his body.

The realization that she wouldn't be able to climb out right there hit her square in her tightly-coiled gut. She needed the guard's keys to unlock the shackles. Unable to turn around to go back, she kept moving forward, until she reached the opening for the next room. Finding it empty, she dropped down from the ceiling and paused, listening for footsteps, or any other sign that someone may have heard her. Finding none, she employed the compact mirror once more, angling it to get a fix on the guard's location.

Shooting him would have been easy, but also too loud. Instead, she leaped out and grabbed the man's head, with one hand clamped over his mouth, and slammed it against the concrete wall. Liz dropped to her knees, unhooked the key ring from his belt, and dragged his limp form into the room, closing the door behind her.

"Desmond?" Red cheerfully called out, "Have you changed your mind? Just think of what you could do with fifty-thousand dollars. A lifetime supply of kosher hotdogs, a full year with a different prostitute every night, or perhaps more than a year, or less, depending on your standards and location. I can put you in contact with some highly-reputable madams. Just say the word."

As he spoke, Liz walked in a slow circle around him, inching closer and closer, and deriving far too much pleasure from the situation. It was wrong, so, so very wrong. No doubt Red was starting to feel a little nervous, probably suspecting that he wasn't talking to Desmond, after all.

Liz took off her jacket, along with Red's protective vest. With the nylon sidestraps undone, the front and back were only attached at the shoulders. Red flinched when she placed a hand at the nape of his neck, guiding his head through the neck hole of the vest. The closely-shorn hair felt exactly as she had imagined, and her breath hitched as her palm lingered for just a little too long.

Feeling the weight of the vest settled over his shoulders, Red grunted. Her hands grazed over his chest and sides as she threaded the straps and adjusted them, one at a time, just a little too snugly. His body heat and perspiration seemed to bring out all of the best notes in his aftershave. The combination made her head swim, and she stepped back in order to avoid accidentally falling against him.

"I assure you that rigging me with explosives won't be necessary, if you don't take the money. We'll both simply die anyway. You may not believe me now, but by the time that you do, it will be too late."

Still maintaining her silence, Liz kneeled down in front of him, reached one hand to graze the posterior side of his left calf, trailing down to the shackle around his ankle. The key ring had at least twenty keys attached to it, and she flipped through them, trying and failing to open the lock several times.

"Shouldn't you know which key to use?" Red drawled, punctuated by a patronizing chuckle. "I thought you were better at your job than this. Perhaps you should consider another one. Fifty grand would buy you more than enough time to figure it out."

Liz bit her lip to suppress a frustrated groan, and kept working until she finally found the right one.

"No. Desmond certainly is better at his job than this... Who are you?"

She gave similar treatment to his right calf and ankle, and found the second key on the third try. Tossing the shackles aside, she smoothed out the perfectly-tailored cuffs of his trousers and then grabbed onto his belt buckle, using it to pull herself up to her feet.

Red reflexively sucked a breath through his teeth. "Enough games! Say something, Luther, or whoever you are."

Liz leaned in closely to his hooded face, just shy of touching. This couldn't go on for much longer, and she knew it. Red sniffed once, twice, and then three times. She ducked beneath his arm and walked around to stand behind him, and then snaked one hand over his shoulder, grazing her fingertips up the length of his neck until she blindly found the edge of the hood.

He sniffed twice more. "Lizzie?"

She pulled it off and tossed it to the floor, but otherwise stood still. Red immediately spied Desmond on the floor, and then looked down at his chest, finding it covered by the protective vest, rather than explosives. He sniffed again.

"I know that it's you, Lizzie. I'd recognize that gardenia fragrance anywhere, and it's especially noticeable without the hood. You shouldn't have come here."

She hooked her chin over his shoulder, laid one hand on his bicep, and skimmed down the length of his arm, over the shackle on his wrist, until she reached his hand. She laced her fingers with his and held it, turning her head to the side, so that her nose was buried in the crook of his neck, where she deeply inhaled before finally saying, "Perhaps... but I haven't yet, have I?"

It took Red a few seconds to fully register what she had meant. Liz knew the instant that it clicked. His posture straightened as he trembled through the brief shiver that raced down his spine. She had him. She had him, and she knew it.

He nodded once and swallowed before finally whispering, "I could better facilitate that if I had the use of my hands."

Liz let go of the hand that she was holding and pressed her chest against his back, wrapping her arms around his waist, only to be frustrated by the vest as it prevented her from making the direct contact that she craved. As her breath swept over his neck, he tipped his head to the side, an elongated and delectable offering that she gladly accepted. "Are you sure? I would have thought that you were a little more creative than that. These chains though... you wear them so well."

Red closed his eyes and groaned when her lips made contact, kissing along the path of his carotid artery. "So... this... is what you like? If I had known, I... god, Lizzie."

She took her sweet time answering, leaving one arm around his waist while the other trailed upwards to cradle the opposite side of his neck, keeping it in place as she sank her teeth into him without warning. Red's jaw dropped with a gasp, and the cell filled with only the sound of his ragged, shallow breath. "It is," Liz replied between kisses, "among other things."

He made no reply, but Liz could almost hear the stream of ilicit possibilities running through his head. Further annoyed by the vest, she yanked his shirt free of his trousers, and slipped her hands beneath the fabric, combing her fingers through the course hairs of his lower belly before flattening both palms there.

He trembled, fighting against the urge to squirm, dying for her hands to lower. His voice a resonant growl, he implored, "Tell me about them."

Her fingertips just barely skimmed beneath his waistband, and Liz took a single step sideways, devoting some much-needed attention to the other side of his neck. Hot breath sweeping over his ear, she replied, "Wouldn't you rather figure it out for yourself?"

They really didn't have time for this. Luther could be hovering around the corner. Ressler and Navabi? God only knows what had happened to them. They could even be dead, for all she knew.

As if he could read her thoughts, Red groaned and said, "I meant it though, Lizzie. You really, really shouldn't be here. I didn't tell you about this for a reason."

Much to his disappointment, she retracted her hands, but they hovered over him as if they, too, were reluctant to move.

"But you could have been in real trouble. How was I to know that you had planned this?" Decision made, one hand descended to cup him through his trousers. She wasn't at all surprised to find him rock solid, but he was both hotter and thicker than she had expected.

Red's hips jerked forward, craving more. Much more. "Lizzie..." Words were not his friends at the moment.

"Hmmmm?" She took the liberty of adjusting his erection into a more comfortable position, and lightly dragged her fingertips up and down the length of it.

"Listen to me. We ARE in danger, Lizzie." The way he kept saying her name, more breath than voice, was driving her mad. "We have to find Braxton before he gets away." She increased the pressure of her fingertips. "God... Come here... Let me see you."

Now that-that, Liz could do. She ducked under his arm and finally faced him, eye to eye, and nose to nose. Many times in the past, she could have sworn that he was eye-fucking her. She knew now, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that she'd been correct in that assumption. Red wanted her now, no question, and though his expression was the same, his heated eyes glistened several shades darker.

She slipped her arms around him, shoving both hands into his back pockets with a squeeze, still maintaining an inch of space between them. Oh, that ass. How many times had she wanted to grab it? And his lips! Oh, his lips... They silently begged to be kissed, but Liz resisted, instead returning her attention to his neck.

"Lizzie, you have to unchain me," he whispered, but his hips jerked forward, going against his better judgement, in favor of what he really wanted.

She moaned into his ear at the contact, and couldn't help but use the convenient placement of her hands to pull him tightly against her. Hips grinding against each other through their torturous clothing, Liz fixated on the smallest of the scars that she had inflicted upon him. Licking, suckling, and biting, she drew the sensitive flesh into her mouth. Before long, she had effectively marked him yet again. "You're mine now," she hissed.

"I've always been yours," he replied, both husky and deep.

Just then, a light groan sounded from the corner of the room. "Shit!" Liz said, scrambling to find the right keys to uncuff Red's wrists.

Through gritted teeth, Red spat, "You should have killed him."

She paused to shoot daggers into his eyes. "If I had a dollar for every time you've said that to me, I wouldn't need this job to pay my bills."

One wrist freed, Red bent it forwards and backwards, stretching to relieve the shackle-induced discomfort. Desmond moaned again and lifted his head. "Lizzie, listen to me! I know how much you hate to relinquish control, but please, if you only follow my lead once today, make it RIGHT NOW."

"Okay, okay, sure." She agreed, fingers trembling as she finally freed him.

"Redd-reddi-reddington," Desmond choked out.

Red grabbed Liz's chin and forced her eyes to meet his. "Since our friend over there is still so unfortunately breathing, I'm going to use him to our best advantage, but first, I need you to leave, RIGHT NOW."

"I can't. The chopper left. It isn't due to circle back for at least another hour. There's nowhere for me to go. What are you going to do with him?"

"I meant leave this cell, and I'll explain later. No time, now. You have to use me as a ladder to climb up and into the vent." He crossed the room and unclipped the guard's walkie talkie. His brow furrowed as he turned the dial, searching for a specific chanel.

"As titilating as that sounds," Liz said, "it couldn't it be faster than using the door."

"You're right. It isn't, but it is safer." He paused to consult his memory of The Factory's layout. "When you climb up, go that way," he said, pointing. Keep going until you reach the third intersecting vent, and take a left. Go about halfway, until you find an opening to a cleared room. As long as it's clear, it doesn't matter which one." He grabbed one of her hands and deposited the walkie talkie into her palm. "Leave it on this channel. Our passcode will be ah.. hm.. how about 'submit'?"

"How appropriate."

"I'll get my hands on one as soon as I can. In the meantime, stay on alert mode. If you can't find a clear spot, stay in the vent until I come for you."

Liz smirked. "Nice double entendre."

Head canted, he chucked. "It wasn't meant to be, actually, but I do love the way you think." He took a deep breath and menacingly placed his palm on her throat. "And don't think for a second that you're off the hook for showing up here. Rest assured that we WILL be discussing it later."

Liz's eyes flashed as if she were accepting a challenge. "Very well."

He crouched down in front of her, and Liz's mind slipped back into the gutter. "Think you can get your feet squared on my shoulders?" Without pausing to wait for an answer, he went on, "Here, climb on and take my hands. I'll stand up slowly, and you can use them to keep your balance."

"Sure thing," she replied, and then did exactly as he'd asked. Still in a state of arousal, the display of his strength didn't pass unnoticed. It was all her fault anyway.

Liz's second journey through the vents was no more pleasant than the first. When she finally arrived at a cleared room, she dropped down and slowly side-stepped towards the door, slipping the mirror from her pocket in order to survey the hall. Before she could so much as lift it, a palm clamped over her mouth as she was roughly grabbed from behind and pushed all the way back into the room and up against the wall.

Her attempts to yell through the hand were almost comically ineffective. Her attacker leaned in and growled into her ear, "If you play your cards right, sweetheart, you may be able to come here after all."

Her knees buckled as she breathed into his palm, "Red!"